The Extent of Intimacy
by Chimerica
Summary: Ichigo and Orihime love each other. But is that enough? Is it ever enough? Set one year after the Hueco Mundo arc.


Tucked under her pink flowered comforter, Orihime flipped through a cooking magazine and enjoyed the soothing sound of Ichigo showering in her bathroom. They had been dating for about a year, and he had recently started sleeping over, telling his family that he was hanging with Chad or Keigo. Orihime adored his visits and planned everything in advance: their meals, the movies they could watch, and the lacy underwear she would wear. Ichigo brought her the obscure ingredients she liked and other small presents.

Orihime was pondering a recipe for red bean pastries, when Ichigo opened the bathroom door, letting a cloud of steam into the room. Orihime laughed as he emerged, a towel swathed around his muscular abdomen.

"You look like a mummy leaving his tomb," she giggled.

Ichigo rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "I was trying to be Frankenstein, dammit."

His wet hair stuck out in awkward spikes and his strong chest and shoulders were pink with the heat. Orihime stared and he looked down awkwardly. She got out of bed, nervously tugging down her sheer lilac nightgown as it threatened to slide up her thighs. She took Ichigo's hand and led him over to her bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I want to comb your hair," she replied.

"Um...why?" He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Just because," she teased and skipped into the bathroom to find a comb.

Ichigo had used her strawberry shampoo, and the sweet, light scent lingered in the air. She marveled at how careful he was with her things; every bottle was recapped and replaced and there were no puddles on the floor. Sometimes Orihime wished he would be less nervous around her. They had confessed their feelings to each other and they had slept together - how intimate would they need to be before his anxiety abated? She was nervous around him occasionally, but it was not in her nature to be so. Orihime's very essence was happy tranquility.

Returning with the comb, she climbed onto the bed and knelt behind him. She gently ran the comb through his wet hair, occasionally brushing his face or ears with her fingertips. Water dripped down his neck, and she lightly kissed away the drops. All the while, Ichigo sat up straight and gazed stoically into the distance, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"I'm done," Orihime announced, setting aside her comb. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his broad back, feeling the warmth of his flesh against her breasts. Ichigo inhaled sharply. "I love you, Ichigo-kun," she murmured.

He turned around and rolled her off of him. She gazed at him in bewilderment from the middle of the bed. Hurt showed in her large gray eyes. "Ichigo -" she started.

Making sure not to drop his towel, Ichigo lay beside Orihime and drew her tightly against his body, planting kisses in her hair. His muscles were taut and tense. He cupped her cheek in his hand and urgently pressed his lips against hers. Her heart racing, she kissed him back, gently parting his lips with her own. He deepened the kiss further, brushing his tongue against hers and entangling his fingers in her hair. After a few more moments, they drew apart, both blushing and panting.

He smiled at her lovingly, and rested his forehead against hers. Orihime gazed up at him. "Ichigo-kun," she whispered. "I thought you hated me for a moment."

Ichigo reddened again and looked away. "Never think that," he growled. He kissed her again, as if to fill the space. "I love you, Orihime."

They lay in each other's arms for a few more minutes, until Ichigo whispered, "I'm really tired. But we could - you know - tomorrow morning. If you want to."

"I do," she replied, and tugged playfully at his towel. Ichigo clutched at it and jumped from the bed.

"You just can't keep your hands off me, can you," he declared. "Well I'm going to put pants on now, so you will just have to wait." He took his duffel bag and went into the bathroom.

Orihime hummed quietly to herself as she remade the bed. She put the comb away, and went to the window to close the lace curtains, pausing to look out. It was dark outside, so utterly black that the darkness seemed to be its own entity rather than the mere absence of light. The streetlights glowed weakly, and all the other buildings seemed miles away, the lights in their windows tiny points of yellow. Something stirred in her chest and she shuddered. For a moment, she thought she could see pale shapes beating against the horizon, darting in and out of the streetlights.

Willing herself to relax, she checked the locks on the windows and closed the curtains. "It's nerves," she whispered to herself. "You've been this way ever since you came back. It's nothing."

Orihime went to her dresser and retrieved Sora's hairpins from their box. She tucked them underneath her hair where Ichigo couldn't see them, got into bed, and closed her eyes.

She heard Ichigo come out of the bathroom and walk over to her side of the bed. She felt him standing there for a minute or so, hoping that he would lie down and not ask her to talk to him. Ichigo took her hand and laced her fingers with his own. "I would love you five lifetimes over if I could," he whispered and kissed her softly.

Orihime stiffened and couldn't breathe. Suddenly terrified, she resisted the urge to tear her hand away and instead opened her eyes.

"Ichigo!" she gasped.

He dropped her hand. "What?" he asked.

"How...why?"

He scratched his head uncomfortably. "Um...I was awake too. I woke up halfway through your goodbye, but I didn't want to bother you."  
"Oh," she managed.

"Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes!" she responded, smiling brightly. "I'm going to bed now. Good night, Ichigo-kun!"

"Good night," he answered, "look, I'm sorry if..." He trailed off. Orihime had turned over and was apparently unconscious. Shaking his head, he went to turn off the light. He climbed into bed beside her and fell into an uneasy sleep.

As soon as she was sure he wasn't watching her, Orihime rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Ichigo shouldn't have - _couldn't have_ - heard her. Even if she had said many of the same things to him later, that night was different. She had thought she would never see him again, she had thought they would kill her, and she was terrified. To mention that night again was to release a devil into the world. It was all washing over her again. She could feel the cold eyes of death upon her and the white robe clinging to her body. She remembered the constant, heavy reiatsu that smothered her and reminded her that they were powerful enough to kill her friends and everyone else besides. The sound of clicking boots in the marble corridors, the taste of her own blood, and poisonous fingers touching her, choking her, the sight of Ichigo dying -

She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched at the blankets. Ichigo had survived, she had survived, and they were safe now - safe, safe, safe... They had to be. Tears rolled down her cheeks and a sob welled in her throat. Orihime buried her face in her pillow and cried, too frightened to silence herself. She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched violently.

"Orihime, it's me" Ichigo said.

She turned to look at him. His angular, worried face was glorious in the darkness.

"Kurosaki-kun," she sniffled.

"It's Ichigo, remember?" He stroked her shoulder. "What's going on with you?"

Orihime struggled to find a place to begin. "You kissed me while my eyes were closed," she began. There was a long pause as Ichigo considered what she had said.  
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "From now on, I won't touch you without making sure you know about it first."

"No, no," Orihime replied, "that's not it. You touched me somewhere else." She drew closer to him, breathing in his scent.

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "You weren't supposed to know about that goodbye. Why - why did you do that?"

Ichigo was taken aback. "I thought it was ok to talk about it now - to joke about it," he replied slowly. "I thought it was all over."

She reached into her hair and pulled out one of her pins. "But it's not," she said, showing it to him.

Ichigo took it from her, and his expression was contorted with pain. "You don't think I can take care of you? Orihime, I would die to protect you. I love you."

"I don't want anyone to die for me," Orihime cried. "I don't want to think about that. Do you know how painful it is to be constantly told that my safety hinges on your suffering?" She began to cry anew. "I don't ever want to say goodbye to you like that again."

Ichigo put his arms around her and let her cry. She eventually quieted and rested her head against his chest.

"We cannot always know each other's pain," she murmured. "That's just the way it is."

"You're right," Ichigo replied. He sighed unhappily.

"I love you," she whispered. She kissed his cheeks and eyelids, cradling his head in her hands.

"I love you, too," he responded and kissed her back, tasting her tears.

They lay quietly beside one another, lost in their own thoughts. Orihime was awake long after Ichigo fell asleep. She watched his shadowy, sleeping form, knowable and yet unknowable. There was a limit to which she could understand him as he could never fully understand her. Her experiences could never be his and vice-versa. They could protect each other from some evils but not all. "We're alone," she whispered to herself, not mournfully but with quiet acceptance. She took out her hairpins and returned them to their box.


End file.
